


Five Times Stiles Said Yes and One Time He Couldn't Say Anything

by we_are_the_story



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dead Hales, Death, Derek Hale - Freeform, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Swearing, Teen Wolf, babbling Stiles, first teenwolf fanfic, i did this in a day, stiles stilinski - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:31:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7040932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_story/pseuds/we_are_the_story
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man cuts himself off suddenly and Derek is really curious, but he doesn't turn around. "Dude, I don't even know where I was going with that, but I just wanted to say that you have really nice Genes. And also your jeans are really nice, where'd you get them? My bro Scott has a similar pair, and oh my God you have a nice face."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Stiles Said Yes and One Time He Couldn't Say Anything

Five Times Stiles Says Yes and One Time He Couldn’t

One -

Derek had never thought about what he would do if he ever returned to Beacon Hills. He grew up there, with his family in its entirety. But they weren’t there anymore, so he was going to live in the house he left ten years ago, alone. He had no barbeques to dread nor look forward to. Peter wasn’t around to pester, Laura would never yell at him again and Cora wouldn’t be there to annoy. His mother couldn’t be proud of him anymore.

They were gone and Derek felt their loss like he was the one who had died.

He’d come back to Beacon Hills thinking he’d be able to hide in his home, were he could mourn for another ten years. He’d thought be just be able to stay away from people. He would inevitably lose them, too.

But-

“Dude, are you just going to stand there?”

Derek scowls in irritation. He is in the middle of picking out what kind of cheese he wants in his sandwiches, minding his own business. What’s he meant to do? Sit down on the floor? No thanks.

He is about to turn around and snap at the man who called him out when they continue talking.

“Because, dude, you could, like, seriously do some push ups or something and not break a sweat. And also it would really show off your arm muscles, and also your back, which would be _awesome_ because man you are like so nice to look at. Not that I’m saying your personality is shit, because I don’t know you like, at all! But I really want to-“ The man cuts himself off suddenly and Derek is really curious, but he doesn’t turn around. “Dude, I don’t even know where I was going with that, but I just wanted to say that you have really nice Genes. And also your jeans are really nice, where’d you get them? My bro Scott has a similar pair, and oh my God you have a nice face.”

Derek had turned around about the time when the man asked where he got his pants.

“I got them at a store.” Derek puts the cheese in his basket and finally takes a good look at the babbling man.

The stranger is shorter than Derek, with brown hair messily styled and wide whisky coloured eyes. Moles splatter his neck and trail under his shirt. Derek refrains from seeing how far they go.

Derek blinks stupidly.

“Hi! You’re really hot. Oh! I said that already. Umm. Oh, I feel so awkward right now, man. Are you feeling awkward? Because I am. And I said that too.”

The man, perhaps five years younger than Derek’s 27, grimaces like he’s in pain and Derek smiles. The man’s eyes widen in shock.

“Oh, my God, your whole face just lit up. Had anyone ever told you that you have a nice smile, because if they haven’t I just did and I got in first. I get credit for that right? Because I called it first? I get first pi-“ his mouth snaps shut.

Derek’s smile widens and he can tell the man’s never actually made someone smile from his no brain-to-mouth filter.

“Am I actually making you smile or is there something on my face? There’s got to be something on my face, dude, because I don’t make people happy when I talk I mostly made them mad because I say things that I shouldn’t say. Like how I said that Jackson was an asshole in third grade even though I shouldn’t have known what the word meant. Jackson cried even though he didn’t know what an asshole was, so it was probably the tone I used, but- you don’t care.”

The man stops suddenly as red begins seeping onto his cheeks. Derek is captivated.

“God, you are so out of my league.” The man sighs and steps away, scrubbing his face in frustration at his personality and his incapability to keep his mouth shut. “I don’t know why I even thought-“

“Do you want to go to dinner with me?” Derek blurts, then his eyes widen. He didn’t mean to say that.

“-want to talk to-“ the man stops, then looks back at Derek in amazement. “Wait. Did you just ask me out?”

Derek swallows and nods hesitantly.

The man breaths for a few seconds, telling himself he wouldn’t blurt out something inappropriate.

“Can we have sex after?” The man squeaks and hides his face behind his hands.

Derek laughs. He hasn’t laughed so hard since his family died, “If you want to.”

The man freezes in shock and peeks a look through his fingers. He sees the completely serious look on his face, but stares at the shy smile Derek has.

The man nods slowly and takes his hands away, “Yes.”

“Yes?” Derek echoes hopefully.

“Yes, alright, I’ll go to dinner with you.”

 

Two -

“Hey Derek!” Stiles calls from the kitchen where Derek has no doubt there will be flour on the ceiling. It has happened too many times to count.

“Yes, Kochanie?” Derek replies, flicking through the channels on the television. Stiles hated it when he channel-surfed.

“My Babcia is coming to Beacon Hills next week and we’re having dinner with her and Dad on Wednesday.”

Derek freezes, his finger poised to hit the next button, and slowly turns around where Stiles stands in the doorway with a wooden spoon in his hand. There is flour in his hair and on his face but Derek hardly notices it.

“What?” Derek’s voice cracks.

Stiles blinks at the obvious sound of sheer terror in his voice.

“My Babcia is over from Poland for a month and she’s staying with dad. She’s been really looking forward to meeting you by the way. And Babcia is so cool, dude, because, like, she can play the electric guitar and she can run ten miles and she’s, like, 78. I mean you can run that far, but you’re 28 and still in your prime. A great prime, man, because you-“

“Stiles,” Derek croaks. He puts down the remote carefully, “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Stiles flails, “Because it really wasn’t that important, she’s just my Babcia. I’m sure you’ve met plenty of your ex’s grandmothers and why do you look like you’re going to puke?”

Derek swallows past the ball of nerves in his throat, “Because she’s going to realise that I don’t deserve you, that you deserve someone better, less broken. She’s going to hate me and I won’t drive a wedge between you-“

Stiles huffs, stomps over to Derek, and wacks him with the spoon.

“She is going to love you,” he says with so much conviction that Derek jolts. “Babica is going to take one look at you and spoil you rotten and you know why?”

Derek shakes his head.

“It’s because even if you seem grumpy and hate the world, as soon as you smile it’s like there are a thousand stars in your eyes. Everything about you lights up when you are happy. You make _me_ happy.”

“I do?” Derek asks.

Stiles smacks him again and Derek wraps his arms around Stile’s waist and leans his head on his stomach.

“What colour are your eyes by the way?” He says as he pats Derek’s head until he leans back and opens them. Stiles squints down, “They’re like blue, but they’re also green and brown and gold and red and purple. How can someone have that many colours in their eyes? I mean it’s crazy. Mine are brown, and they’re not a nice brown like mahogany, as in ‘That is mahogany!’. They’re brown as in boring. Like mud. But would you say your eyes are blue, because that’s what they are at first glance? But if you look again, they’re green. Look again and, tada! They’re gold. How do you even-?”

“They’re hazel on my driver’s license.” Derek interjects. “And also your eyes aren’t boring. They’re beautiful.”

“Really?” Stiles says in disbelief and goes cross-eyed. Then he stops.

“Did you just try to look at your eyes?” Derek laughs.

“I love you.” Stiles says suddenly.

“You’re not allowed to use that to change subjects, Stiles.” Derek smirks.

“Damn.”

 

Three -

“Derek!” Stiles whines as he’s lead blindly out the Camaro, “Where are we going?”

Derek chuckles, “It’s a surprise.”

“You know I hate surprises.” Stiles protests as he’s brought up a set of stairs.

“No you don’t,” Derek replies without missing a beat. “Six steps here, Stiles.”

“No I don’t, but people say that on movies, don’t they? So I thought I’d try it out whenever someone blindfolds me, but I really don’t think it works. What do you think, Derek? Do you think that pretending to hate surprises works for me? I don’t think it does but I want to know your opinion on the matter.”

Derek holds open the door to the tiny restaurant and Stiles puts his hand up to feel his way and knocks into his arm. He pets it for a couple of seconds.

“Have you been working out, Derek?” He asks coyly.

“Get in,” Derek huffs a laugh and leads him to what he assumes is the centre of the room.

“Hey, that’s what I said last ni-“ Stiles cheeks, but Derek slaps his hand over Stiles’ mouth.

“Shut up.” Derek looks around the room and mutters a sorry.

“Why are you saying sorry?” Derek removes the scarf.

“SURPRISE!”

Stiles gapes around at the room and sees all the people he knows. His Dad and Babcia are standing next to each other and looking like proud parents. Mrs McCall, Scott, Lydia, Jackson, Erica, Boyd, Allison, Chris, Deaton, Danny and Greenburg are standing behind them, holding signs that reads ‘Happy Birthday!”

Multi coloured streamers hang from the ceiling and balloons are bunched together. There’s a table full of food with about fifteen seats around it.

Stiles squeals in shock and turns to hit Derek but halts, hand half raised.

“Holy shit. Holy Mary, mother of Jesus.” He breathes.

“Stanislaw Genim Stilinski.” Derek starts. He clears his throat and looks up at Stiles, his face anxious, “Ever since the first day I met you-“

“YES!” Stiles cries, then snaps his mouth closed. “Was I meant to wait until you asked officially? I can’t wait that long, you know me, I’m impatient.”

“But I wanted to hear the speech!” a voice calls from the room.

“Shut up Greenburg!” the room yells.

“That’s why this is also an engagement party.” The Sheriff say and gestures behind him. The signs now read, “CONGRATULATIONS!”

“How’d you know I was going to say yes?” Stiles asks Derek.

“I didn’t plan this part.” Derek admits.

 

Four –

Derek fixes his tie and turns to Boyd, “Is it straight?”

Boyd gives him a look, “If you’re asking me if you’re straight, I think you should check who you’re marrying. If you’re asking me if you’re tie is straight, yes.”

Derek nods his head and shakes his trembling hands. He makes sure his jacket is buttoned properly.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, man.” Isaac observes. He’s leaning around Boyd to face Derek.

“You’re going to be fine, Derek.” Boyd says for the third time in ten minutes, “He loves you. God knows he talks about you often enough.”

“He’s had a crush on you since you were a Senior.” Isaac inputs.

Derek’s face scrunches up, “But he would have been 12 years old.”

Isaac laughs, “What can I say man, he likes what he likes.”

Derek smooths the non-existent wrinkles in his pants again.

“Stop fretting,” Boyd ordered, looking over the crowd of people facing them.

“But it’s Stiles.” Derek insisted.

“Your point? You’ve been going out for six years.”

The music changes and Derek straightens up. He looks towards the end of the aisle and as soon as he lays eyes on Stiles, his face lights up.

Stiles is wearing a tuxedo, a plain one, like what Derek’s wearing, but instead of a black tie, he’s wearing a dark red one and on his feet are white converse shoes.

On his face is a smile that matches Derek’s.

The walk down the aisle feels like millennia, but eventually Stiles reaches Derek and the Sheriff gives him Stiles’ hand and he blushes bright red.

He looks at Derek through the gaps in his eyelashes and Derek’s breath catches in his throat. He looks so beautiful.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two families through the love of these two men…”

Derek tunes the man out and just stares at Stiles in wonder.

“Do you, Derek Hale, take Stiles Stilinski to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, through sickness and in heath, ‘till death do you part?”

Derek’s smile is wobbly and his voice cracks, “I do.”

“And do you, Stiles Stilinski, take Derek Hale to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, through sickness and in health, ‘till death do you part?”

“Fuck yeah!” Stiles falters, “I mean, yessir. I mean, I do.”

 

Five -

Derek didn’t know what it was with Stiles and milk, but every time he went shopping he always forgot to buy it. This week was no different.

“Stiles.” Derek sighs as he pulls the last container from the shopping bag and holds it up. “We don’t even like grapefruit juice.”

Stiles scratches his head and looks around the kitchen, “I swear I bought some milk, this time. I distinctively recall picking up that sneaky bottle of white liquid-y goodness and placing it carefully into the cart before moving onto the juice. I know because I accidentally dropped – Oh.“

Neither of them speaks for a moment.

“You dropped the milk.” Derek says, his voice flat, as he slowly places his cheek on the island bench.

“Er…” Stiles falters and shuffles on his feet for a couple of seconds. “Do you want me to…?”

“ _Yes._ ” Derek groans, his voice muffled by his hand.

“Right. I’ll just…”

“Go.”

Stiles nods rapidly and grabs the keys. The door slams behind him.

Derek wheezes out a laugh.

He can’t believe he’s in love with an idiot.

 

Not five minutes later the phone rings and Stiles’ face takes over the screen. Derek sighs, mutes the TV and answers it after five rings.

“I just remembered that I took the last one.” Stiles says before Derek can get in a hello.

“The one you dropped?” Derek asks, already resigned to the fact that he should just buy milk before Stiles goes shopping.

“That’s the one. How did you know? You must be psychic or something because I would never have guessed that. Nope, not in a million years would I have ever known that. Are you a wizard? In that case: Yer a wizard, Derek! Congratulations! You get to spend the next seven years being chased by an evil Dark Lord. Yay!”

Stiles laughs loudly in his ear and Derek smiles. He will never get tired of Stiles’ strangeness.

“Promise you’ll come back in one piece.” Derek says.

“Yes.” Stiles sighs.

“Yes what?” Derek coaxes.

“Yes I-“ Stiles cuts himself off and cries out in panic.

Tires squeal and class shatters.

The phone goes dead.

 

\+ 1:

Derek is running out the door with the phone to his ear again, this time with 911.

“I don’t know where!” Derek yells as he stabs his keys in the ignition and starts the car.

“We can’t help you unless you tell us where-“ the operator repeats, their voice bland and no hint of empathy.

“For the last time I don’t know where he is!” He screams as he tears out the driveway, the wheels spinning. “He’s in a beat up old jeep and he was heading to the supermarket, I don’t know where he is on that road! Please, you’ve got to send someone!”

“We can’t unless we know where he is.”

Derek shouts in frustration and hangs up. He’s driving too fast on the road, but Stiles could be hurt. Oh god.

Stiles could be in pain.

Derek sobs, “Kochanie.”

A flash of blue catches his eye and he slams on the breaks.

He rips open the door and jumps out. Roscoe is the right way up, but the roof is squished down, the metal bend out of shape.

“STILES!” Derek roars as he sprints back towards the jeep, “Stiles are you okay? Are you hurt? What-“

Stiles is slumped forward, his arms limp in front of him.

Derek tries to open the door, but it won’t let him in, so he leans through the window and puts his hand on Stiles chest. He pulls away, confused because his sweater is damp. It’s not raining.

His hand comes back covered red liquid.

“Stiles!” Derek cradles Stiles’ chin, and lifts his head so he can see his eyes but they are closed. Derek can’t see whisky.

Stiles isn’t responding.

“Stiles, please say something.” Derek puts his fingers to Stiles’ pulse point.

Nothing.

“Stiles please.” Derek keens.

But he is met with silence.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been transferred from my Fanfiction account because I don't know. if you want to make sure it is me on that account feel free to clarify or something. I wrote this in a day so if there are any grammatical, punctuational or factual errors just let me know.


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